Chapter 12 - I Don't Want To Be Friends
Chapter 12 – I Don’t Want To Be Friends
-Gwyn-
After arriving at the House of Wind, Azriel insisted Gwyn take some time for herself to wash away the day's events, before joining him for some food—which sounded like a great idea, since it was already evening and she had still not eaten anything.
He directed her to one of the extra rooms with an attached bathing chamber, where the House had already prepared a steaming bath complete with fragrant lavender oils and bubbles. She peeled off the ill-fated dress, vowing to return it to the store, followed by her teal lace thong—another purchase that morning at Nesta’s insistence that if she wore regular undergarments, the lines would show through the fabric of her dress. The matching bra was also an impulse buy—“Mor says if you wear matching undergarments, you feel sexier and more confident,” Emerie had told her—which, honestly, she had, until…well, until the day went to Hel.
Once she was completely nude, she undid the elegant waterfall braid in her hair. After tying it into a messy top knot, she climbed into the soothing water in the bathtub, allowing herself to sink beneath the steaming surface, letting the tension melt from her body.
As she soaked, the rich floral aroma surrounded her, and she pondered what she could wear afterward, determined never to don that dress again. Almost as if on cue, a folded set of pajamas appeared on a nearby bench, courtesy of the ever-attentive House. “Thank you,” she said aloud, and the flicker of the lights felt like a warm reply.
After drying off with a plush towel the House had so lovingly provided, she slipped into the pajama shorts and short sleeved shirt, the material soft against her skin. Realizing that, though the material was soft, the outline of her breasts and nipples showed; she looked around for something else to cover her upper half with—a robe, a shawl—something. Again, as though reading her mind, a wrap-style cardigan sweater appeared on the bench. She smiled at the House’s ability to sense her needs without her needing to say anything out loud.
“Thank you, my friend. You really know how to spoil a girl after a rough day,” Gwyn remarked to the empty room. The House responded with a freshly made mug of hot chocolate appearing on the counter. She couldn’t help the happy giggle that escaped her lips—after a day like this one, she was surprised that she could muster any sort of joy. Spotting her discarded dress on the floor, she asked, “Would you mind laundering this for me? I need to return it tomorrow.” With that, the dress vanished as if to say, Of course. “Thank you!” she called after it.
Gwyn, her mug of cocoa clasped tightly in her hands, let the savory aroma guide her steps through the winding halls of the House. It drew her to the large dining room, where her gaze fell upon Azriel. He sat at the long table, his posture composed, hands folded neatly in front of him. The chair, crafted to accommodate wings, framed him perfectly. He had changed into a pair of loose black pants and a fitted long-sleeve black shirt that clung to his form, emphasizing the sharp definition of his chest and arms. He looked up as she entered, the flicker of warmth in his gaze making her pause for just a moment longer.
Several platters of food were laid out, their covers still in place. A seat was prepared across from him, and as she entered, the lids vanished to reveal an inviting spread: skewers of roasted chicken breast, onion, zucchini, and tomatoes; delicate cucumber sandwiches; a fruit and cheese platter; bacon-wrapped water chestnuts; and a tray of fresh, crisp vegetables.
“Wow,” she said, her eyes lighting up at the sight. “This looks incredible.”
Azriel’s expression softened as he smiled at her. “I thought you might prefer something simple and casual after today. I asked the House to prepare foods we could eat easily with our hands, in case you’d rather sit in the living room than at the dining table.” He paused. “I asked it if there were any foods you have eaten when you’ve been here with Nesta and Emerie that you seemed to like. This is what appeared—I hope it’s alright.”
It was such a thoughtful gesture that Gwyn felt the tension of the day begin to melt away a little more, replaced by a comforting warmth that settled deep within her. Tears pricked at the corners of her eyes, a testament to how much his kindness meant to her. She worried, though, that if she started crying again, Azriel might decide she was too much to handle and flee.
Misinterpreting her expression, Azriel quickly tried to amend. “We can eat here if you’d prefer,” he offered, his tone almost apologetic. “Or I can have the House prepare something else—”
“No,” she interrupted firmly, shaking her head. “No, Azriel, it’s… perfect. Thank you…I’d love to eat in the living room.”
Relief softened his features, and he smiled as he stood. “Well then, after you, Gwyn,” he said, gesturing toward the living room with a graceful sweep of his arm. As she passed him, he added, “House? Could you please move everything to the coffee table in the living room?”
In an instant, the food vanished from the dining table and reappeared exactly where Azriel had requested. Gwyn made her way to the couch, her hunger finally catching up with her. She was surprised she hadn’t fainted earlier, given the stress of the day and her lack of sustenance.
Azriel settled beside her, the space between them so narrow it felt like the universe itself was conspiring to draw them closer. When they both reached for one of the skewers, their hands brushed—a fleeting, unintentional touch—and it ignited her every nerve with a fire both startling and magnetic. The sensation lingered, a phantom spark tracing her skin. He seemed to feel it too—his body went as taut as a bowstring. When his gaze locked onto hers, his eyes blazed with molten gold, heavy with a yearning that stole the air from her lungs. Every fiber of her being screamed to close the distance, to seize his face and claim his lips, but she held herself back; instead, she tried to focus on eating her food.
Despite the unspoken words that hung in the air, they shared the meal with effortless harmony. The silence between them was not a void but a gentle presence, wrapping around them like the soothing strains of a familiar melody, comforting and unbroken. Both of them had abandoned plates in favor of simply picking from the platters. Though hunger gnawed at her after a long day without food, she remained mindful of her manners, gracefully navigating the informality of their shared meal with quiet poise, her every move measured and deliberate. Even in the casualness of the moment, there was an unspoken reverence—each gesture, each glance, charged with a quiet intensity that made the simplicity of the act feel profound.
“Thank you again, Azriel,” Gwyn said softly after swallowing her last bite of cucumber sandwich.
“You don’t need to thank me, Gwyn,” he replied, his voice low and rich, sending a familiar flutter through her stomach. She looked up, meeting his molten gaze. “You never have to thank me.”
“It’s not just for taking me away from there,” she clarified, tucking a stray lock of hair behind her ear. His eyes followed the movement, intent and unwavering. “I’m also thanking you for standing up for me when Elain… well, when she said those things.”
Azriel winced, his jaw tightening. “I’m really sorry for what she said, Gwyn. It was cruel and untrue. I hope you know it was all bullshit.”
“Was it?” she asked, her teal eyes lifting to meet his, uncertainty flickering in their depths. “I mean, I shouldn’t have made such a spectacle of myself by wearing that ridiculous dress—”
“That dress was incredible, Gwyn, and you looked stunning in it,” he interrupted, his tone firm. “You were not a spectacle, and you did not look ridiculous.” His eyes were full of sincerity. “I know, I only said you looked nice—”
She laughed lightly. “I believe your exact words were, ‘really nice,’ Shadowsinger.”
A sheepish half-smile tugged at his lips. “Right. I should’ve told you the truth, but my shadows—” he gestured to the dark wisps curling around his shoulders “—got a little too excited and made me tongue-tied.” He glanced down, clearly embarrassed.
“What’s the truth?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
His eyes snapped back to hers, blazing with sincerity. “The truth is that you’re the most beautiful female on any given day, Gwyn. But when I saw you walking toward me in that elegant dress and those heels…” He paused, his voice dropping to a husky murmur. “You took my breath away. I can’t even fully blame my shadows for my inability to speak, because my brain fucking imploded the moment I saw you.”
-Azriel-
Gwyn’s sharp intake of breath at his confession made his breath catch, unsure if she was delighted with what he’d said or unnerved. Azriel swallowed hard, his throat tightening as he pressed on, his gaze unwavering. “What Elain said was bullshit, Gwyn. She saw us holding hands at the ceremony, and it made her jealous and bitter. She tried to tear you down to make herself feel better.”
Gwyn’s eyes dropped to the grape she was rolling between her fingers, her hesitation evident before she finally asked, “What happened between you and Elain, Azriel?”
He knew he owed her honesty. “Nothing, not truly. We… came close to something, I guess you could say. Almost an affair.” His voice was steady, though tinged with quiet remorse. “I thought I was in love with her, but looking back now, I see it wasn’t love. It was infatuation—an illusion I built in my own mind.” He paused, taking a breath as if grounding himself. “I convinced myself that, because her sisters are mated to my brothers, it meant she and I were destined to end up together. But I was wrong.”
She considered his words carefully. “Even though she’s Lucien’s mate?” There was no judgment in her tone, only quiet curiosity. That’s one of the things he loved about her—she never condemned him for any of the things he shared with her in their conversations--though he still had not bared himself to her fully. Not the nature of his job as Spymaster, and what he did to enemies of the Night Court; not the guilt he felt about his mother and how she had suffered; and, not what happened to his hands that made those horrific scars. He wasn't sure he ever would; he couldn't bear for her to walk away from him.
SHADOWSINGER. SHE IS WAITING.
Right.
“I believed the Cauldron had made a mistake, but the truth is—it was me who got it wrong. Elain… she was turned Fae against her will, torn from her human life. She was mourning the loss of everything she’d known—her mortality, her fiancé Greysen and the future she had planned with him. Her pain turned to anger and devastation, and she cast Lucien as the villain in her story. When she showed interest in me, I stepped into the role of her hero without hesitation. But I see now, it wasn’t love. It was never love. It was infatuation. Lust.”
He paused, his jaw tightening as he prepared to voice the part that still unsettled him. “Last Winter Solstice, we came dangerously close to crossing a line. We were inches away from kissing while the others—Lucien included—slept upstairs. Rhys caught us before it happened, and I told her it was a mistake. At the time, I resented Rhys for interfering, but looking back, he...saved us. He spared us both from doing something that we couldn’t undo—and from the political fallout that could have fractured the Night Court.”
Gwyn listened intently, her expression unreadable, which only unsettled him further. Finally, she spoke. “So, she was upset because you told her it was a mistake, and then she saw us holding hands today, and…” Her voice trailed off as she pieced it together. “She thinks you rejected her for me.”
Azriel exhaled a weary breath. “Yes. I think that’s why she said the things she did. She was using you, trying to hurt you, to get back at me.” He paused before he cautiously said, “I know I called her an asshole—and honestly, she was being an asshole. But, Elain isn’t bad, she’s just…lost. I think she saw me as someone who would make all of what happened to her make sense. Make it mean something. Guide her through it. And, honestly, I think that’s what I wanted to be for her. But, then I pulled away from her, leaving her lost and confused again. I know now, that a real relationship, real…love isn’t built on the premise of wanting to fix someone.”
“I see,” Gwyn murmured. She paused, her gaze thoughtful. “I know this might sound strange, especially after I heard all of those horrible things she said about me, but… I feel sorry for her, Azriel. Even after seeing a side of her that is so ugly, I know it came from a place of pain.”
Her words caught him off guard, though perhaps they shouldn’t have. “That’s… that’s because you’re incredible, Gwyn.”
Her bashful smile was adorable, and he wanted to kiss it so Godsdamn badly. "I'm not...I guess I've seen others behave poorly when they were hurting...like Nesta. She's my sister now, but when I met her—"
He laughed. "Yeah, she was...something when she first came to the House of Wind."
She smiled, before she went on. "Did you apologize to her? To Elain, I mean?"
He nodded. "Several times. I know my sudden withdrawal from her without explanation hurt her, more than I realized. Nesta suggested I don't try and apologize to her again—that she just needs time to figure out herself out. The apologies I did give her only seemed to anger her more, anyways."
A kind of understanding dawned in her expression. “Last Winter Solstice…that was the night you came to the training ring when I was there for the first time.”
He froze, afraid she was close to figuring out the rest of what transpired in the few days after Winter Solstice. “Right,” he finally said around the thick lump of apprehension in his throat. “I was…upset that night. I was going to work out some of my frustration in the pit, but—”
“But I was there,” she finished for him.
“Yes.” He met her gaze again, those blue-green orbs staring back at him.
“I…I foiled your plans that night then, I suppose.” She began nervously messing with the fabric of her napkin as she looked down at her lap.
“And I couldn’t be more grateful that you were there that night, Gwyn.”
Her striking teal eyes snapped to his, wide with surprise, her plush lips slightly parted, drawing his attention like a magnet. They were so utterly, maddeningly kissable that it took every ounce of his self-control not to close the distance between them. A blush bloomed across her cheeks, and Azriel decided it might be his new favorite thing—seeing her cheeks flush that beautiful shade of pink. “I’m really grateful for your friendship, Shadowsinger,” she said softly.
His heart pounded against his ribs, and his tongue felt clumsy in his mouth. Rhys’s words echoed in his mind—Go for it. And Nesta’s—Tell her how you feel. Summoning every ounce of courage, he steadied his voice and finally said it.
“I don’t want to be friends with you, Gwyn.”